


Ficlets and Prompts

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5712334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are my ficlets collected for the tumblr challenge <a href="http://yeahwrite.co/post/137182802514/yeahwrite-yeahwrite-one-year-52-stories-new">one year 52 stories</a> as well as various ask prompts</p><p>in the notes on the first chapter is a list of each chapter by primary characters and prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. starting again

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. carver hawke - starting again  
> 2\. merrill - night  
> 3\. fenris/hawke - surprise  
> 4\. hawke family - snowing  
> 5\. carver and leandra hawke - sadness  
> 6\. merrill/bethany hawke - "be my date tonight?"  
> 7\. merrill/bethany hawke - "i had the weirdest dream about you and now i can’t stop imagining what you’d look like naked"  
> 8\. carver and bethany hawke - “You’ve been working too hard and I’m calling a Netflix intervention. Not taking no for an answer.”  
> 9\. isabela/josephine - "That sounds like a bad idea. I'm in."  
> 10\. bethany/isabela - “i thought you hated me but i just accidentally sent you a booty text and you accepted and i am seriously considering it”  
> 11\. carver/krem  
> 12\. carver/fenris - "you’re always at the university library at 3 am because it’s the only time you can focus hello hi same here"
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 1 prompt: starting again
> 
> Carver enters Kirkwall

Kirkwall rose before them, all imposing gold statues and hard cold stone. As the little ferry sailed through the gates of the Gallows, under the weeping metal slaves and sharp steel gate, Carver felt a shiver run down his spine.

This wasn’t what he wanted, none of it was. He scowled at the horizon and the underneath the rage and fear, grief tugged at him. Had it really only been a week since they left? Only months since Ostagar? It felt like longer, like lifetimes. Somehow the wounds still felt fresh.

One of the statues covered its face with its enormous gold hands in a posture of ultimate unhappiness and despair. Its body hunched at the shoulders and the knees. Another raised its hands to the sky, asking the Maker for mercy. The twins, he heard another passenger call them. _How appropriate_ , Carver thought, and he swallowed the lump growing in his throat.

He looked back up at the Gallows, what they called huge tower where mages were kept “for their own good.” His sister didn’t have enough sense to keep her nose out of everyone’s business and he could only hope that Kirkwall would be like Lothering: quiet and isolated enough to keep her head down and out of the Templars’ noose. It seemed unlikely but Carver could only hope.

Marian stood a few feet away with her dog, eyes raised to the Gallows. Her brows furrowed in determination and her fingers twitched. What did she see when she looked at the Gallows? A mage collective, a prison, a home in another lifetime? 

Carver turned away and brought his own gaze back to the statues. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Bethany’s safety here, which was a blessing in the worst possible way. He gritted his teeth until the burning behind his eyes subsided.


	2. night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: night
> 
> Merrill is stargazing

Merrill could never see the stars from the Alienage. The lights of Kirkwall, torches burning at all hours or towering crooked buildings that blocked the view, always blotted out the sky into a vast empty vacuum. She stopped really trying, as most nights she was busy with Hawke or inside with the Eluvian. 

Even after six years, she wasn’t used to the absolute darkness of it. Until moving into the city, she could stare into the sky and see a blanket of stars from horizon to horizon. The view from Sundermount had been especially beautiful, where she could see the dim city below her and the glittering pinpricks of starlight above. 

As a child, she would sneak out with Tamlen and Mahariel to stargaze. They three would lie on their backs for hours, pointing out the Hunting Wolf or the Prancing Halla or the Aravel. They liked to make up new ones, like the Grumpy Keeper or the Great Bear with Fennec Legs, to make each other laugh. Merrill would reach out to touch them, convinced if she just stretched her fingers a little more she could pluck one from the sky and bring it down to keep with her, a tiny glimmering gem to stay by her side.

Once, the Keeper caught them as they snuck back into the camp. Merrill was at that in-between age, not a child but not quite an adult, and while she wasn’t forbidden to leave at night, she still knew the danger that lurked in the forest. The Keeper had used that tone, the one that said _I’m not mad, I’m disappointed_. Merrill cried after leaving her presence, full of shame and repentance. Not long after, Tamlen disappeared and Mahariel left, and Merrill was alone. The adventure lost all of its excitement. Merrill didn’t go stargazing again after that.

Sometimes when she went adventuring with Hawke, they had to camp on Sundermount out of necessity and Merrill would try to talk to her friends about them. Merrill didn’t think the constellations Isabela pointed out were real, especially the ones where Hawke snickered and the two ended up giggling in their tent together. Fenris would never sit with her. When he was feeling friendly, Anders told her the names the Chantry gave the stars. They sounded so strange and Merrill could never keep them straight in her head. 

Most often, Merrill sat by herself and lost herself in memories of looking at these same stars in a different time, a different life.

In the Alienage, the Vhenadal’s branches stretched out to cover the open space between the crumbling buildings, and Merrill could only see darkness between the leaves.


	3. surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: surprise
> 
> Hawke surprises Fenris

Fenris turned the page of his book. The plot grew increasingly ludicrous as the pirate courtesan wooed the nobleman’s daughter, kidnapping her out of her bedroom window, and Fenris was hard pressed not to roll his eyes at every other paragraph. It was entertaining enough to fill his evening, but he wouldn’t give Isabela the satisfaction of knowing he enjoyed it when he returned the novel. 

He stretched out on Hawke’s massive bed, relaxing with a glass of wine, the heat of the fire in the hearth, and the mabari snuffling in sleep at his feet. The trek up Sundermount earlier that day had exhausted him, and he preferred to spend the evening curled up at home rather than accompany Hawke to the Hanged Man. Most nights he would have gone, but he had been tired and Hawke hadn’t pressed.

Hawke said he had only planned to have a drink with Varric, but the candles illuminating the room now burnt down almost to the bottom, and Fenris began to grow concerned for the man’s welfare. He knew the mage could take care of himself, but the unease lingered. This anxiety over another person, not fear of one trying to kill him but safety for one he wanted to live, was relatively new. The knowledge that Hawke felt the same towards him sparked a warm feeling in his chest.

As he turned the next page, Fenris heard the front door of the mansion open and close. Dog’s ears perked and his tail began thumping on the bed, but otherwise he didn’t move from his comfortable spot. Silence followed, with none of the usual sounds that indicated Hawke was moving toward the bedroom. No footsteps, no bumping into the stair handrail, no kitchen cutlery clinking for a midnight snack.

Another few moments of silence passed and Dog’s head lifted to look for his master. Fenris slid a marker into his book and placed the it on the side table, wondering if he would have to go carry Hawke from the entrance to the bedroom. He hoped Hawke wasn’t stumbling drunk tonight, as Fenris enjoyed the quiet and calm for now. 

The door opened. Fenris blinked. Dog barked.

Hawke stood completely naked in the doorway, save for a bright red bow covering his groin.

“Surprise!” Hawke’s mouth pursed and his eyebrows raised in an expression that Fenris was hesitant to call ‘seductive,’ but surely that was what Hawke was aiming for. It was closer to ‘I just smelled something dying.’ 

Hawke wobbled slightly and his hand reached out to grasp the wall. Fenris sighed. 

“Happy birthday Fenris!” A grin split Hawke’s face and, after regaining his balance, he held his hands out wide. 

“It’s not my birthday,” Fenris said evenly.

Hawke tottered towards the bed, collapsing face-first onto it beside Dog, who immediately started licking his face. Hawke propped himself up on his elbows, patting Dog with one hand and looked up at Fenris with puppy dog eyes. “Well, since we don’t know when it really is, I thought we’d make one up.”

Fenris nudged Hawke’s arm with the sole of his foot and smirked. “Did Isabela put you up to this?” 

“No.” Hawke’s innocent tone made Fenris immediately more suspicious. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, maybe. She just wanted you to have a birthday too.”

“Another excuse to drink, I suppose. And this is your idea of a good birthday gift?” Fenris eyed Hawke’s naked back, down to the curve of his round backside, and Hawke’s buttocks flexed under the scrutiny. Fenris smirked and felt the beginnings of arousal curl in his chest.

Hawke righted himself again, looking altogether too smug, and put his hands on his hips framing the obscene bow. “Are you saying you don’t want to unwrap it?” Hawke’s thick hair covered his chest and belly, tapering off into a trail that led directly to the bow. Fenris had to admit, the bow certainly accentuated the whole package.

“Not at all.” Fenris lifted a hand to beckon Hawke nearer.

Hawke came around to the side of the bed and bent to kiss Fenris. Hawke’s hands slid around Fenris’ neck and into his hair, tilting his head back for a better angle. 

Fenris decided that this was as good a birthday as any, and pulled Hawke’s body down onto his.


	4. snowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: snowing
> 
> the young hawkes play in the snow

Snowflakes drift silently to the ground, resting on leaves heavy with ice and banks covered in white already. No birds sing or animals rustle through the undergrowth, and the silence stretches out across the fields. The blizzard during the night before left a foot of snow on the ground and three antsy children inside ready to go outside and play. 

Carver sits behind a wall of snow, methodically packing the freeze into balls of hard ice. He leaves out rocks from the middle, knowing that would be a mistake here. His tongue peeks out onto his lip in concentration, but the brisk air makes him tuck it back inside quickly. 

Bethany lays in a higher drift looking up at the specks of white slowly making their way to her. She waves her arms and legs in large arcs, feeling the outside of her coat getting a little damp. When she stands to survey her work, she beams and giggles excitedly at her snow angel.

Marian builds a similar arsenal of snowballs, but hers ends up much larger than Carver’s. Frost magic certainly helps speed things along. She peeks over her own snow defenses to keep an eye on her brother. His focus remains steady on his slowly growing pile of projectiles. Marian grins. 

Bethany, having finished making two more snow angels as her siblings prepare for the oncoming battle, starts working on the base of a snowman. She hums under her breath, and the three siblings lose themselves in the quiet, if unstable and soon to end, peace.

Screaming cuts through the air with three snowballs hitting Carver squarely in his shoulder, his back, and when he turns around, his mouth. He shouts loud enough to wake the dead and ducks behind his fortress. Marian laughs at his outrage and picks up three more snowballs. The battle begins in earnest and projectiles fly through the air at an alarming rate. Carver gets louder when Marian begins using her rudimentary force magic to give her snowballs more power, and she laughs at his anger.

Bethany continues patting the snow into the growing figure as her siblings shout and battle and eventually shove ice down each others’ coats. She adds a flower to the snowman’s face and pats it gently.


	5. sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: sadness
> 
> carver hawke reflects on his life and leandra's depression while marian is in the deep roads

Carver was restless. He sat at the table, then moved to stand in front of the hearth, before moving into the cramped bedroom before returning to his seat in the main room and starting the circuit all over again. His mother sat silently in front of the fire and stared into the flames. She wouldn’t speak to him unless completely necessary. She gripped her old blanket until her knuckles turned white, one of the few items they had carried to Kirkwall, and it had become her lifeline. 

Carver felt the familiar itch under his skin after being cooped up inside for too long. With his mother too caught up inside her head and Gamlen always complaining about something, Carver hated being stuck in this stupid hovel but he didn’t know where else to go.

His sister’s friends never sought him out or even wanted to spend time with him, only put up with him when Marian dragged him along to their gatherings. Even then, she never hesitated to tell him to bugger off. Thankfully, most of her friends were too polite to put the thought into words. 

Varric always dealt Carver a hand in Wicked Grace, but he was in the Deep Roads with his sister. Probably dead together, eaten by a darkspawn. Carver forced his thoughts off that path. He avoided the Hanged Man now because Varric was away and Isabela made him uncomfortable, with her easy flirting and wandering fingers. The only one he really wanted to see was Merrill, but she also seemed distracted by the lack of Marian. Carver gritted his teeth at the elf’s easy dismissal, and ignored the longing in his chest.

So, the Hanged Man was out, and the Blooming Rose had been the site of too many awkward encounters with Uncle Gamlen. Even if some of the girls were nice to him, the visit wasn’t worth the risk of thinking about what his uncle did there.

He had even gone to Athenril feeling desperate for non-familial interaction and for coin, but she also dismissed him without a thought. “Sorry, kid. Your sister’s the one with the magic touch.” He had fumed for days, cramped in the hovel in Lowtown without any other way to release it. It wasn’t fair, being overlooked for his sister every time he turned around. 

He knew he could handle this: the interminable waiting, the loneliness, the perpetual unease that Kirkwall inspired, even being shunted into his sister’s shadow. What he couldn’t handle was watching his mother spiral into depression. 

Leandra rarely left the house any more. She dreaded going to the market, complaining about all the people and noise; Carver knew part of the anxiety came from what little coin she had to buy necessities. He had gone with her once and watched her face whiten, her hands tremble, her breathing become quick and shallow. He wished he could do this errand for her, but he knew if he did, she would never go outside again. That seemed worse.

He had seen her do this before. When his father grew sick, Leandra made every excuse to stay by his bedside. Her friends sent invitations to join them for gatherings or special market days, and Leandra would write polite refusals. Eventually the invitations tapered off. 

She sent Bethany and Carver to the market more than once to avoid the crowds. Carver hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. His thoughts were preoccupied with the danger of someone discovering Bethany’s magic more than the causes of his mother’s anxiety. 

Now, he saw the fear much more clearly. Without Bethany to sit by her side with needlework or Marian to pick up the slack in his father’s absence, Leandra drifted further and further from him. She ended up in front of the fire, staring sightlessly without communicating for hours. 

Each time Carver tried to step into his sister’s shoes and make some coin, or comfort his mother, it ended badly. Leandra lashed out with sharp words and insisted she didn’t need help. At least when Marian’s dog was around, he sat at her feet and gave her some companionship. Carver couldn’t even manage that. She only needed her daughters, and Carver wasn’t enough.

Carver was never enough.

He found himself drawn more and more to the Gallows. The men and women in uniform there had structure and purpose. They also received a regular wage, which was more than anyone in the shitty little hovel had. 

Carver couldn’t help his father, he couldn’t save Bethany, he couldn’t fix his mother, and he probably wouldn’t ever see Marian again. 

There was one thing he could do. 

He stood and left the apartment; he headed to the Gallows to speak with the Knight-Captain.


	6. be my date tonight?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Imagine Your OTP Prompt](http://professionallilbrocarverhawke.tumblr.com/post/140390411822/imagine-your-otp)
> 
>  
> 
> Person A keeps talking about the amazing date they’re going to have and how romantic and fantastic it’ll be and even though Person B is sad, if it makes Person A happy, they’ll do their best to be happy for them and then the huge date night comes around and Person B gets a call and thinks something bad happened on the date and rushes over only to find roses and candles and Person A holding a whiteboard saying, “be my date tonight?”
> 
> alt title: Bethany has no chill

Bethany stabbed her fork into her salad, crushing the cherry tomato until it spewed seeds and insides all over her plate. Merrill chattered away, nibbling on her wrap and watching the birds fly around the Union, landing on cement benches or window ledges. Bethany nodded and grunted when she heard a pause in the conversation, but tried not to engage too much.  
  
“Beth, are you even listening?” Bethany looked up and met Merrill’s hurt gaze.  
  
“I… I’m sorry, I got distracted. Tell me more about your date tonight.” She tried to make her voice cheerful and happy for her friend, but she could hear the resentment in her own voice.  
  
“I’m so excited! I’m going to cook a capon, do you know what a capon is? It’s a little bird, and you can stuff it with things, so I’m going to stuff it, and I bought this sweet white zin…” Bethany found herself zoning out again.  
  
She found it difficult to listen to her best friend gush over her date tonight, when all Bethany felt was jealousy. She didn’t expect Merrill to not date anyone, not with how bright and smart and adorable she was, but at the same time she couldn’t be enthusiastic about someone else taking her place. Or rather, taking the place she wanted. She speared another tomato.  
  
Merrill looked at her watch. “Oh, I’ve got to run. I need to pick up candles and bubble bath and flowers.” She pressed a kiss to Bethany’s cheek as she stood, collecting her trash. “I’ll call you, alright?”  
  
Bethany nodded and shoved a forkful of greens into her mouth to keep from having to answer. She mumbled something deliberately incomprehensible.  
  
Something crossed Merrill’s face. A line appeared between her eyebrows and her eyes softened. “It will be alright, Beth. I’ll talk to you later.”  
  
Bethany squeezed her friend’s hand and watched her skip away across the sidewalk to the car park. Merrill didn’t deserve for Bethany to act surly and jealous, even if that was how she felt.  
  
She looked down at the sad remains of her salad and sighed.  
  
—  
  
Another explosion came from the TV’s tinny speakers. Carver jumped from the couch and started shouting, “That was all me! Right there!”  
  
Bethany pouted into her glass of wine and stroked Dog’s ears where she curled up on the couch between the twins. This was absolute torture, to sit at home and watch her brother play video games while Merrill went on the best date ever, complete with a romantic candlelit dinner, flowers for the lucky suitor, and maybe even a sexy _bubble bath_.  
  
She sighed again and Dog whined up at her. Bethany scratched behind her ears until her tail started wagging, hitting Carver in the side.  
  
“Stop sighing like that, Beth. Just… go get drunk with Isabela or something. Sitting here and wallowing in your misery isn’t going to make Merrill’s date go any differently.” Carver didn’t even look at her as he spoke. He mashed his fingers on the controller and jerked around, like moving his body would help his coordination in the game at all.  
  
She glared at him. “It’s not that simple. She’s just…” Bethany gestured wildly with her wine glass until it almost sloshed over the side. She set it on the side table and put her face in her palms. “I hate thinking about it! What if she’s there making out with this mystery date right now?”  
  
Carver grunted and threw down his controller. “Just fucking talk to her. Tell her _you_ want to date her!”  
  
Bethany lifted her head and glared at him. “Oh right, like you’re one to speak. You, who pines over that guy at your gym but can’t say a damn thing except, ‘lift with your back,’ or ‘your form looks great,’ or ‘I’m emotionally stunted and can’t tell you I think you’re hot.’”  
  
Carver flushed from his neck to his ears and he glared back at her. “That’s different.”  
  
Bethany rolled her eyes. Carver was saved from her verbal beat-down by the chime of a text message notification.  
  
      merrill : I need you to come over right now  
  
Bethany shrieked and jumped from the couch. Dog fell off her lap, sensing Bethany’s panic and immediately started running in circles and barking at the top of her lungs.  
  
“Merrill needs me! The date is a serial killer and she’s in danger! Her house is on fire from the chicken! She’s probably dead right now!”  
  
Carver rolled his eyes and picked his controller back up. “None of that is true. What did she actually say?”  
  
Bethany didn’t answer as she ran into her bedroom to pull on the first pair of shoes she found, grabbed her keys, and raced to the door.  
  
As she rushed outside, she heard Carver scream at the top of his lungs at the TV, “Yes! That’s how we did it back in Ferelden!”  
  
—  
  
Bethany threw her car into park and leapt from the seat as soon as the engine shut down. During the whole drive, all she could see were the worst case scenarios playing out in her head.  
  
She threw the apartment door open with such force that it hit the opposite wall with a bang. “What’s happening! Merrill! Are you alive?!”  
  
Merrill’s living room was dim, only one floor-lamp lit with a red scarf thrown over it, giving the room a warm romantic feel. Candles scattered across her coffee table, flickering softly and making the room smell like vanilla. Merrill sat on the couch with wide eyes and eyebrows raised. “Bethy, why are you shouting?”  
  
Bethany froze. “I… thought you were dead. I thought your date was…” She noticed Merrill was alone. “Where’s your date?”  
  
Merrill smiled and picked up a bouquet where it lay across the couch cushion. “I, er, may not have been entirely truthful with you earlier.” She rose gracefully and crossed the room to stand before Bethany. “These are for you.”  
  
Bethany looked down at Merrill, her green eyes sparkling in the low light and the delicate tattoos across her face making her seem ethereal. Bethany blinked. “Wait, what?”  
  
“I want _you_ to be my date tonight. There’s no one else. I thought, maybe if I planned it all and invited you over, you’d think it was romantic? Maybe I should have told you first, that probably would have been better.” Merrill stopped herself as she realized she was rambling. Bethany opened her mouth, and closed it. She opened it again, hoping this time words would come out.  
  
“Merrill, I…” Merrill’s eyes widened, grew concerned and hurt. “I thought your date was going to be a serial killer.”  
  
Merrill blinked, then bit her lip. “Oh Bethy, that’s so sweet.” She giggled a little and a smile crept over Bethany’s face. She relaxed. _Bethany_ was the date.  
  
“Thank you for the flowers.” Bethany took the flowers from Merrill’s hand. “I would love to be your date.”  
  
Merrill smiled. She leaned up on her toes and Bethany bent down, and their lips met in a perfect kiss.


	7. i had the weirdest dream about you and now i can’t stop imagining what you’d look like naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merrill/bethany hawke
> 
> "i had the weirdest dream about you and now i can’t stop imagining what you’d look like naked"

Merrill’s eyes skittered away from Bethany’s every time she glanced up, hands fluttering around her cards and practically vibrating from excess energy. Bethany was getting sick of it.   
  
This wasn’t the first time Merrill acted strangely around her in the past week, but it was the first time it put a damper on Bethany’s whole mood. Merrill acted skittish and avoided Bethany’s touch, where they usually linked arms or fixed each others’ hair on missions with Marian. Now, at the weekly Wicked Grace game, Bethany felt even more despondent as Merrill seated herself on the other side of the table, as far from Bethany as she could get..   
  
Bethany huffed and turned in her seat, looking instead at Isabela, who immediately winked at her. Bethany watched Isabela slide a card into her tunic, sighed, and folded her hand.   
  
“I’m going for another round,” she said, and a round of cheers followed her downstairs out of Varric’s suite.   
  
She leaned on the bar as she waited for drinks. She knew Norah could easily bring them upstairs, but Bethany took the moment away from the gang to breathe and pout over her friendship with Merrill. Was it something she did? She thought back over the past week, when they went to Sundermount to find elfroot, and Darktown to talk to Anders, but could recall no specific event that might have changed Merrill’s attitude toward her.   
  
Merrill’s appearance at her elbow brought Bethany from her thoughts, and she smiled instinctively.   
  
“You’ve been gone so long, and Isabela wanted me to make sure you hadn’t gotten lost. I don’t think you could get lost in here, it’s not very big, and you’re good with directions, but I suppose it’s still possible, you know.” A tiny dip appeared between Merrill’s brows, and Bethany had the sudden urge to kiss it away.   
  
“No, I’m not lost. Just waiting for the drinks.” She tapped her fingers on the counter and watched Merrill squirm, never meeting Bethany’s eyes. “Did I do something, Merrill?”  
  
She froze in place, like a rabbit sighted by a wolf, and her eyes slowly drifted to meet Bethany’s own. “What?” she squeaked.  
  
Bethany bit her lower lip and wrung her fingers together. “You seem… different around me now. Did I do something to upset you?”  
  
Merrill swallowed and she folded her arms across her body, closing out Bethany. “Of course not, you couldn’t do anything like that.”   
  
Bethany didn’t know why, but that stung. She frowned and turned her body toward the bar. “Oh.”  
  
“It’s not—“ Merrill reached out, but tugged her arms back into her chest. “You didn’t do anything, I promise. It’s me, I— well. It’s me.”   
  
Bethany tilted her head toward Merrill, but couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes again. “If you say so.” She could tell when she was unwanted. The body language, the avoidance, the refusal to even talk… Bethany had seen it before, in Lothering when the other children thought she was strange.   
  
Merrill squirmed beside her, and _finally_ Corff put seven mugs of ale on a tray on the counter. Bethany moved to lift it, but Merrill gripped her wrist with a chilled hand. “It’s not you, Bethany. Please don’t think it is.”  
  
“But if you can’t even say it, how can we be friends? I don’t want this to come between us, but…” Bethany kept her eyes carefully on the ale before her, unable to look at Merrill for the rejection that lay ahead.  
  
Merrill’s hand tightened over hers. “Oh, Creators. I had a sex dream. About you.”  
  
Bethany froze. “You what?” Her eyes slid to watch Merrill, a tiny spark of hope appearing in her chest.  
  
Merrill snatched her hand away. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t mean to, and now whenever I look at you, well…” Bethany watched her fidget uncomfortably, a red blush covering her cheeks and her hands flitting around like delicate birds. “I can’t stop thinking about it, about _you_ , and I don’t want to make you feel awkward, because we’re friends, and I haven’t really had friends in so long, not real ones who weren’t afraid of me. I didn’t want to ruin this, just because I saw you naked, but I didn’t even actually see you naked because it was just a dream, and oh goodness, I’ll stop now.”  
  
Bethany reached out and stilled Merrill’s frantic hands. She laced their fingers together and rubbed her thumbs gently over her palms. “Merrill,” she said, and Merrill looked up at her, fear shining in her glittering green eyes. “Don’t be afraid. It’s okay. It’s normal and…” Bethany’s eyes slid away and her own cheeks warmed. “Maybe I’ve had a dream like that too.”  
  
Merrill’s hands tightened on her own, and when Bethany looked back at Merrill, hope had replaced the fear. “Truly?”  
  
Bethany nodded and Merrill ducked her head with a pleased smile blooming across her face.


	8. You’ve been working too hard and I’m calling a Netflix intervention. Not taking no for an answer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve been working too hard and I’m calling a Netflix intervention. Not taking no for an answer.” Carver with Bethany
> 
>  
> 
> thanks jack for the prompt and yay natasha for finishing all your shit!!!!!!

Before Carver even opened the door to their apartment, he could hear the frantic strings and violent chorus of Bethany’s classical study playlist. He sighed as he put the key into the lock, knowing he would find Bethany up to her ears surrounded by books and papers.  
  
She hadn’t left the apartment in three days since her last appointment with Dr. Orsino, when he had informed her that her dissertation went in the wrong direction and she needed to cut about half of her page count to start over.  
  
“Bethy,” he called out as he laid his keys on the side table, voice almost inaudible over the music. “I’m home.”  
  
He got no response, probably because the music had blown out her eardrums and now his sister was deaf. Carver knocked on her door and it swung open, revealing Bethany at her desk, typing furiously on her laptop. Her dark curtains kept the room dark and cool, the dim desk lamp her only light source, and Carver had to blink a couple of times for his eyes to adjust.  
  
All of the junk piled up on her desk almost rendered her invisible, with heavy tomes, loose sheets of paper, paper plates and napkins from what Carver had cooked the last couple of days, at least six separate coffee cups, candy wrappers, pens, her laptop and her lamp covering every inch of space.  
  
She looked terrible: eyes red-rimmed, deep purple circles under her eyes, hair greasy and clothes unwashed. Carver sighed.  
  
He flipped on the overhead light, and Bethany flinched from the fluorescent brightness. She looked up to find him in the doorway, and a wounded expression covered her face. “Carv, what are you doing? I was on a roll.”  
  
Carver shook his head and moved over to the stereo, turning off the music and leaving them in blissful silence. “Beth, this is unhealthy.”  
  
“Car—“  
  
“No.” He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her from chair, and walked her out to the living room. She flinched at the bright light coming through the large windows, and raised her arms up in front of her face to shield herself. He sat her down on the couch and grabbed the TV remote.  
  
“Carver,” she whined. “I have so much to do! I have to write at least ten more pages by Monday if I’m going to make my deadline, and Orsino has been emailing me all day, and—“  
  
“Beth.” He used his _Malcolm-voice_ and Bethany’s mouth snapped shut. She looked slightly alarmed, an expression probably mirrored on his own face. He lowered his brow and tried to channel his father. “You haven’t left the house in too long and you’re only running on coffee and chocolate. You need an intervention.”  
  
Bethany collapsed into the sofa cushions with a groan. “No, I don’t, brother. It’s not like I’m an addict or something, I don’t need an _intervention_ , I’m just fine!”  
  
Carver rolled his eyes. “A Netflix intervention, then. You’re going to sit here, and we are going to watch _Steven Universe_ for a couple hours until you chill out, then we’re going to eat and you’re going to bathe. Seriously Beth.” She blushed and looked down at the dirty pajamas she still wore. “Then you can go back and work on it for a while.”  
  
She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to object but Carver spoke over her. “You’re going to burn out, sister. I can’t let you do that.”  
  
Bethany huffed and grabbed a throw pillow, clutching it to her chest as she capitulated. Once the show started playing on the TV, Carver took a seat beside her. He leaned back, arms stretching out along the back of the couch, and tried to focus on the television while not making it obvious how much of his attention was on his sister.  
  
After a few minutes, Bethany exhaled, a heavy breath full of tension and stress, and snuggled into Carver’s side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and mimicked her deep breath. Maybe they could enjoy cartoons for a little while before she got too jittery about her thesis again. Carver counted it as a win.


	9. That sounds like a bad idea. I’m in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That sounds like a bad idea. I’m in.” Isabela and Josephine

“Body shots!” Sera screams at the top of her lungs. She darts off to the bar, dragging Dagna in her wake. The Iron Bull laughs, and Varric sighs long-sufferingly, and Josephine asks herself once again why she is here in the tavern drinking with the companions and agents rather than quietly in her office with Leliana.   
  
She remembers that Leliana is gone, in Val Royeaux in her new robes, and won’t return for a long time yet.   
  
“Body shots?” Isabela appears from somewhere behind Josephine, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “That sounds like a bad idea. I’m in.”  
  
Josephine sighs and continues watching the group chatter and joke animatedly, until Sera sets down a tray with at least two dozen shots on the table.   
  
Isabela nuzzles at Josephine’s neck, and a shiver runs down Josephine’s spine. Sera sets down four shots in front of the women. “All right you lot, your turn.” Sera puts one of the glasses in Isabela’s shirt, nestles it between her breasts with a giggle.  
  
Josephine’s eyes stick to the clear liquid in the glass, and Isabela pinches her. “Go on, Ambassador,” she purrs. “You’re first.”   
  
Josephine meets her eyes and sends a prayer up to the Maker. She leans down, opens her mouth around the rim of the glass, holds it with her lips and tips her head back to drink down the alcohol in one smooth motion. Her mouth brushes against the smooth skin of Isabela’s chest, and Josephine can smell her, cinnamon and salt and the clear rum.   
  
“Atta girl.” Isabela’s eyes are darker, dilated, not drunk but getting there. Josephine licks her lips, and Isabela tracks the motion. Josephine can’t help leaning in, tilting her head until she can almost taste the woman’s breath. The rest of their friends cheer and clink glasses to take their own shots.   
  
“I’m going to regret this,” Josephine says to herself without pulling back.   
  
“Maybe, but it’ll be fun.” Isabela winks and settles another shot between her breasts. 


	10. i thought you hated me but i just accidentally sent you a booty text and you accepted and i am seriously considering it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “i thought you hated me but i just accidentally sent you a booty text and you accepted and i am seriously considering it” 
> 
> the anon asked for Fever but i failed and wrote bethabela instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also I still hate that AO3 doesn't support emojis

Isabela scrolled through her phone, eyes catching on every third name. She wondered who would be awake at this hour, who would be available, who would be a good fuck or mediocre, but none of the options seemed enticing enough.  
  
Her finger hovered over one, a name she hadn’t thought about or worried over in the past year, hesitating, stalling. No, that would be an awful idea. She tapped the name underneath it, _Bran Ginger [eggplant emoji]_ , and typed out a message. She glanced at the clock on her phone. 2:30, surely he was still awake. That one seemed like a workaholic if anyone was, probably still in his office doing Maker only knows what.   
  
When she set her phone down on the table, she caught Varric staring at her. He raised an eyebrow; she winked lasciviously, and leaned back in her chair. The rest of her surroundings filtered in through her tipsy-horny tunnel vision, and a longsuffering groan brought her attention back to her friends’ Wicked Grace game.  
  
“No, Merrill, that’s not— You can’t just—“ Marian huffed and put her face in her hands. “You can’t play that hand, that makes no sense.”   
  
Isabela watched as Marian got increasingly flustered and Merrill more confused over the intricacies of the card game, the other players at the table similarly used to this kind of reaction. Isabela sipped her whiskey and tapped her fingers on the table.  
  
Her phone chimed, and she swiped it up steadily. Unfortunately, the message on the lock screen wasn’t what she expected.  
  
 _Beth [star emoji] : if you’d like_  
  
Isabela froze. She had sent the message to Bran, not Bethany, right? She unlocked her phone and stared at the screen in growing horror.  
  
 _Isabela : hey sugar, can i come over?_  
  
 _Beth [star emoji] : if you’d like_  
  
Isabela felt a roiling in her gut. She deliberately did not look up at Marian, the sister of the person she just accidentally booty texted who had threatened Isabela within an inch of her life the last time—   
  
Did Bethany really say yes to that? After a year of nothing, and she says yes immediately without even thinking about it? Was she stupid? Had she learned nothing from the trainwreck of their relationship, that she accepts a text out of the blue like that? Isabela felt almost indignant on Bethany’s behalf.   
  
Now that Bethany had accepted, the ball was in Isabela’s court. Should she go over there? She certainly wanted to get off tonight, hence the booty text meant for someone else, anyone other than Bethany… but to have it be with the woman she had failed so miserably?   
  
Isabela threw back the last of her cocktail and threw her cards face-down on the table.   
  
_Isabela : be right there_  
  
“Well, ladies and gents and everyone else, I’m out.” She smirked as her friends grumbled.  
  
Marian rolled her eyes. “Who is it this time, Bela? Zevran? Anders? Lady Elegant? I hear her husband knows she’s sleeping with someone else and got pretty pissed the last time he was home.”  
  
Isabela laughed, covering her nervousness with bravado, setting a hand on her hip and leaning into the table. “Jealous, sweet thing?” She winked at Marian, who stuck out her tongue and went back to pointing at Merrill’s cards, and sauntered out of the Hanged Man into the chilly night.  
  
She scrolled through her Instagram through the entirety of the subway trip, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing. This wouldn’t be the first time she slept with an ex, probably wouldn’t be the last, but it would be the first time that _feelings_ were still involved. On her side, anyway.   
  
In front of Bethany’s building, Isabela paused, the creeping anticipation climbing up her spine. She stared at the buzzer box, the name “B. HAWKE” glowing and taunting her. She still had time to leave, to go home and save whatever dignity she thought she possessed, avoid this unexpected reunion.   
  
Did she want to? Their breakup had been, if not amicable, then at least not miserable or angry. This could be fine, she wouldn’t make it weird.   
  
She hit the bell. The door unlocked with a quiet _snick_ , and Isabela went inside.   
  
Isabela didn’t let herself hesitate again, and rapped on the door with two knuckles.   
  
The pause between her knock and the door opening lasted less than thirty seconds, but it felt like an interminable wait, endless and anxious and overwhelming. What was she doing here?  
  
Bethany wore a ratty terrycloth robe, her hair was wet, falling down her back in dark waves, and her feet were bare. She folded her arms across her chest and her eyes were soft. “Hi, Bela,” she said, and Isabela felt something in her crack a little. She swallowed.  
  
“Hey there, sweet thing,” Isabela said, plastering her sultry smile on, but her voice sounded dull and flat to her own ears. Bethany’s eyebrows creased a little, and Isabela knew she noticed too.   
  
Bethany stepped back from the door, leaving a space for Isabela to enter the apartment. Isabela hesitated, but a little gesture from Bethany spurred her feet.   
  
The place looked the same as it had last summer. An old cozy sofa and mismatched armchairs with extra pillows on every seat, low tables cluttered with knick knacks and objects special to Beth for one reason or another, posters and prints covering every wall commemorating art shows or concerts. The apartment was not dirty, it never had been, but the clutter gave it a lived-in, homey feel. At one point, it had felt more like home than Isabela’s own starkly furnished place, bare except for the necessities or small luxuries she allowed herself.  
  
Isabela stood awkwardly in the center of the room, once again unsure of herself. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, nor one she wanted to be.  
  
“So,” Bethany said from where she followed Isabela in. “You wanted to come over.”  
  
Isabela swallowed, put the steel back in her spine, and made sure her seductive mask was firmly in place before turning back to Bethany. “I did.” She took a couple of steps toward Bethany, swinging her hips and turning on the bedroom eyes. “I didn’t think—“ She stopped, voice catching.   
  
She couldn’t meet Bethany’s eyes, had a feeling what she might see. Pity, anger, betrayal? Isabela was simultaneously too sober and too drunk to have this conversation.  
  
“You know what, this was a terrible idea.” She pushed past Bethany towards the door, but a hand on her wrist stopped her.   
  
“Bela.” Bethany’s voice was soft, breathy, gentle. All things Isabela loved about her because she herself could never be. “Wait.”  
  
Isabela froze. She turned her head until Bethany stood just outside her range of vision.  
  
“Why did you text me? Were you really looking to hook up tonight?”  
  
Isabela snorted. “I was, just…”  
  
Bethany sighed and released her wrist. “Not with me.” An undercurrent of pain ran through her words, sending a barb into the space below Isabela’s ribs.  
  
Isabela looked straight ahead again, staring at the door. This wasn’t like her. She was brash and bold and fearless, not this weak thing standing in her ex’s apartment, tongue-tied and embarrassed. “No.”  
  
The silence behind her felt like deep sea diving pressure, pushing in on all sides until she thought her lungs would burst. “Oh. Well.”   
  
“I didn’t—“ Isabela started. “It wasn’t—“ She couldn’t help turning to face Bethany, felt the sharp pull under her ribs again. “No, I didn’t mean to text you. I really didn’t expect you to say yes, either. After everything. I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough.”  
  
Bethany had focused on a spot to the side, but Isabela’s last words brought her gaze back to Isabela’s face. Her amber eyes were dark in the low light, glittering, drawing Isabela in like she was a fish caught in a net. “Stupid enough? What?”  
  
Isabela gritted her teeth for a moment. “I left. You shouldn’t be saying yes to late night texts from your ex like that.”  
  
Bethany’s eyes narrowed. “But it’s alright for you to send them? Even if you didn’t mean to, and then come over instead of politely backing out?”  
  
Isabela shrugged, trying to cover her dread with nonchalance. “We both know I’m a terrible person, kitten.”  
  
The pity on Bethany’s face made Isabela turn away again. “Bela, don’t say that. You’re—“  
  
“Well,” Isabela interrupted, “as fun as this was, I’m going to leave before I start actually feeling things.”   
  
Bethany huffed. “Fine. Run away, like you always do. I don’t know what else I expected.”  
  
“That’s what happens when you’re a pirate. You sail away, sweetness.”  
  
“Don’t— Don’t call me that.” She glared at Isabela. “I thought pirates fought for what they wanted. Not run away like a coward.”   
  
Isabela flinched. “Yes, well.” And that was it, wasn’t it. The reason Isabela broke up with Bethany in the first place, afraid of her feelings, afraid of commitment, afraid to be hurt so she hurt first. Now, at 3AM in her ex-girlfriend’s apartment, slightly drunk and more than slightly miserable, she had to face all these problems without even the solace of getting laid afterwards. Feelings just didn’t seem worth it.  
  
She ran a hand through her hair, catching the thick waves and pulling. Bethany’s hand gently tugged Isabela’s hand down, lacing their fingers together and turning Isabela back around.  
  
“Bela.” A hand came up to caress Isabela’s cheek, raising her chin so Bethany could meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to leave.”   
  
Isabela shut her eyes and pressed her forehead to Bethany’s, taking a deep breath and squeezing where Bethany’s fingers twined against her own. “What are you so afraid of?”  
  
With her eyes closed and Bethany’s breath warm on her face, it was easier to confess. “All of this. I’m just a bartender who pretends I’m a pirate to make it sound better, to make my life have more adventure than it does. What happens when you find someone better, someone whose life is going places? Someone worthy of you? I can’t just… So why even bother?”  
  
Bethany sighed, and the oncoming rejection hit Isabela in the chest again. “Why do you say these things? You’re worthy, Bela. You’re wonderful, and caring, and I want _you_. Doesn’t that matter? Do I get a say in this?”  
  
Isabela shook her head. “I’m also much older than you, I know better.”  
  
Bethany snorted, and grabbed Isabela’s face between her hands. “I don’t think that’s true, love.” She pressed their lips together, and Isabela’s hands instinctively reached out to grab Bethany’s hips.   
  
Isabela knew kisses. She knew first date getting to know you kisses, she knew hot and heated foreplay kisses, and she knew goodbye kisses. This didn’t feel like any of those, it was sweet and sorrowful and full of _feelings_. It was chaste, until the smallest heat of the tip of Bethany’s tongue pressed against Isabela’s bottom lip, and she had to drag herself away.  
  
Isabela opened her eyes to look at Bethany, still caught up in the end of their kiss. Her eyes were shut, eyebrows raised and mouth barely parted. “Please don’t go,” she whispered.   
  
Isabela sighed and pressed her face into Bethany’s neck. “Alright.” It wasn’t a promise of forever, but it was a start.


	11. carver/krem thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so [shae-c-art](http://shae-c-art.tumblr.com/) asked for krem/carver feels.... here we go
> 
> also I stopped this right before it got really sad so you're welcome for that

Krem, who isn’t from the south but enough of the Chargers are that he’s heard the Tale of the Champion, especially considering Varric’s increasingly tall tales at the tavern, sees Carver for the first time coming into Skyhold behind his brother. He’s taller than Krem expected, standing almost a head over the Champion and almost twice as big as Varric. His blue and silver armor glints in the sunlight, and Krem feels like he’s been knocked upside the head. That feeling is magnified by the Chief’s actual bodyslam, throwing Krem to the ground for his inattention. The Chief raises an eyebrow as his gaze looks up to where the companions enter Skyhold, then comes back to Krem on his ass in the dirt. The Chief closes and opens his eye slowly, in some parody of a wink, and Krem grumbles for the rest of their training.

He actually meets Carver at the tavern two nights later. He’s playing Wicked Grace with the Chargers, betting obscenely and trash talking as usual. The Chief bellows an invitation across the room and Carver appears. Krem only just keeps from dropping his cards flat on the table, fumbling with his suddenly sweaty palms. Carver seamlessly joins the easy banter at the table, less dour than Varric made him out in the stories, but his humor is dark and occasionally snippy. Krem tries not to stare at Carver’s large hands holding his cards, tossing coins to the table, but Chief’s stare makes him think he might not have been so subtle. 

The Chargers go out on a mission, and during their first traning session after their return, Carver once again appears from nowhere. Krem manages not to drop his shield or stumble under the force of the Chief’s blow, holds his own under the Warden’s eyes. Some have called their “training” less disciplined and more general roughhousing, but it works for them.

After a few minutes, Carver jumps into the ring and Krem swallows the spit pooling under his tongue. Carver wields his greatsword like it weighs nothing, his arms bulging beneath the thin fabric of his tunic, looking less bulky without the metal armor of a warrior but no less powerful.

“All right, Lieutenant?” Carver says with a smirk.

“You’re on, Warden,” Krem shoots back. He moves into a defensive stance as Carver readies himself, and the sparring begins. Carver is quick on his feet even wielding such an enormous weapon, which shouldn’t be surprising for a man who has spent the last decade training under the Wardens. It feels like a dance, one Krem doesn’t mind: graceful back-and-forth, one step forward and one step back in sync together, the rhythmic clash of dulled steel on steel, watching and predicting the next move. It’s exhilarating and Krem’s heart is pounding in his chest and Carver just grins at him even through the punishing pace.

By the end of the match, Krem yields, breathing heavy and sweating like a sinner in the Chantry. Carver seems to be in a similar state, drags a hand across his forehead to wipe the sweat beading at his hairline and running down his neck, and Krem has to tear his eyes away.

The Chief claps Krem on the shoulder, almost buckling his knees, with a hearty laugh. “That’s the spirit, Krem-Puff.”

Krem wants to know Carver, why he bristles under Varric’s attention but eventually melts into playful banter, how he trains and wields his greatsword so easily,

Carver comes back from the Western Approach complaining about sand in every crevice, and Krem can’t help but laugh. He’s dealt with worse sand plus blistering heat in Tevinter, and when he tells Carver so, Carver just grumbles. “It’s not supposed to be like that in the south,” he says, and his mouth quirks up at Krem’s renewed laughter.

They train together more often, sometimes with the Chargers and sometimes one-on-one, only to keep themselves sharp while the Inquisitor prepares for the assault on Adamant. They drink together at the Herald’s Rest, talking into the small hours when Cabot kicks them out.

The Chargers don’t follow the army to Adamant, remaining at Skyhold as backup for any minor issues. Krem waits at the gates to watch the Inquisitor and their companions head out, the Chief among them, leaving Krem in charge.

Carver approaches, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and kicking at the dirt with one boot. “When I get back,” he says, finally looking into Krem’s face and Krem feels a stutter in his chest at the expression, “we should, y’know, have a drink.”

Krem feels something tighten in his chest. “All right, Warden.”

Carver smirks and gives him a loose salute before turning back to the gates.


	12. you’re always at the university library at 3 am because it’s the only time you can focus hello hi same here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you’re always at the university library at 3 am because it’s the only time you can focus hello hi same here 
> 
> littlexabyss requested a pairing of my choice and i went back to my original otp, carver/fenris <3 thanks for putting up with my procrastination and lateness oops

Carver scowled at the girls strolling down the aisle and chattering at the top of their lungs, turning the volume on his iPod up another notch to try and drown them out. This was why Carver hated finals week. After a semester of silence, everyone and their mother decided these four days were when they wanted to be in the building. Even at, Carver checked his watch, 2:48am new students were still arriving to try and find an open space to pull their all-nighters.  
  
Carver just wanted it to be quiet and still, like it always was when he came to study late at night. This time of night seemed to be the only time when he could truly focus, when the motion-sensor lights switched off until a solitary soul walked through and they lit one by one, when the campus outside was deserted and lonely, when the handful of regulars who came to the library at this hour all kept their headphones on and the sound of pens scratching against paper or book pages flipping were the only sounds. Carver loved all of it.  
  
Now seemed to be the polar opposite of all that. If the sky wasn’t dark outside, he would guess it was the middle of a weekday, when students strolled in and out with no respect for those doing actual work.  
  
He looked up as another person stepped off the elevator, but the scowl slipped off his face as he recognized them. The white hair was unmistakeable and, considering how attractive he was, unforgettable. He’d seen this guy regularly whenever Carver came after midnight, and while they’d never spoken, they usually nodded or made eye contact. The guy always had his own headphones on, and Carver didn’t want to bother him with the universal symbol of _don’t talk to me_ so clearly conveyed.  
  
The group of loud girls came walking past again, disrupting the peaceful quiet with giggles and gossip. “Ugh,” one of them made a disgusted noise. “It’s so busy here, like, why aren’t there any seats?”  
  
Carver glared at their backs as they went up the stairs. He looked over to find the hot guy also glaring at the girls, before the expression melted into worried frustration.  
  
Carver glanced around to the other tables. The building was a lot fuller than he was used to at this hour, with every table taken up by mostly quiet students intent on their studies or papers, ready to finish the semester.  
  
The hot guy checked his watch, and Carver felt a spike of trepidation in his belly. Was he about to leave?  
  
Carver shuffled the papers covering his huge table. Two hours ago, he had spread all his papers across the tabletop to be able to see all of his anatomy notes and diagrams, and also ward off people looking to share his table. Now, it seemed like a waste.  
  
“Hey,” he called out, and the hot guy turned. Someone at a nearby table shot him a glare, so Carver modulated his voice into a loud whisper. “Do you want to sit here? I’ve got some space.”  
  
The guy narrowed his eyes, which darted from Carver to the table to the rest of the floor. After a moment of consideration, he ducked his head in acquiescence.  
  
“Thank you,” he said as he set his books down, and Carver felt heat pool in his belly at the unexpectedly deep voice.  
  
“No problem.” Carver went back to scribbling in his notebook, trying to memorize but now highly distracted by the guy rolling up his sweater sleeves to show off a set of white tattoos, bright against the guy’s dark skin, swirling and trailing in long elegant lines.  
  
Carver managed to drag his attention back to his anatomy notes, and they worked in silence for a few moments.  
  
When the loud girls came back down the stairs, talking loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear them in the stairwell, Carver and the guy looked up and made eye contact. Carver rolled his eyes and the guy smirked. Carver felt a thrill rush through him at the approval.  
  
“You’d think they’d realize everyone is being quiet at this time of night.”  
  
The guy snorted. “That would require self awareness I do not think they possess.”  
  
Carver laughed. “True. I’ve never seen half of these people in my life, and now they’re all here at once? Don’t they know it’s rude to only come to the library during finals and put all the regulars out?”  
  
The guy shook his head solemnly. “Fools.”  
  
“I’m Carver.”  
  
“Fenris,” the guy said, and Carver couldn’t help beaming.


End file.
